


Homecoming

by Kaitiedid



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Domestic, Hank is bad at expressing feelings, Literal married couple, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Some graphic crime scene descriptions, Swearing, but someone's a little oblivious, long-distance pining, no beta we die like men, video calls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16314428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaitiedid/pseuds/Kaitiedid
Summary: Hank Anderson is a man with a lot on his plate. He's finally got his shit together and admitted his feelings to himself. Next step is confessing them to his partner. Which would be a hell of a lot easier if he wasn't five hundred miles away, doing what he needs to do for his people. And if the serial killer he's hunting wasn't running circles around him. Which would also be a helluva lot easier with Connor here. One step at a time though. One frustrating step at a time.





	1. So Far Away

Hank glances at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes. It isn’t time yet, but it’s close. He runs quick fingers through his hair and beard, straightens his clothes again, then settles into his chair at the table. His computer is already up and running.

Drawing in a deep breath, he breathes out slowly. Connor will be worried if his stats are off, he thinks, chuckling to himself.

He shouldn’t be this nervous, he knows. They’ve been video-chatting like this for months. But last week, Connor had hinted at there being big news on his end. The president was probably making a decision on some rights they were fighting for, and he hopes that it’s going to be the right decision. He can’t stand the crushed, frustrated disappointment on Connor’s face whenever something doesn’t go the way he wants over there.

And maybe, some small, narcissistic part of him whispers, maybe if that happens, he can make Connor feel better. Seeing his face might make him smile.

It’s pretentious, he knows, but he has enough supporting evidence to think he might be right. Enough nights starting off badly, enough that end in Connor’s warm smiles that actually reach his eyes. And the only thing that tied all those together were their calls.

Right on the hour, Connor’s icon pops up as an incoming call. Hank clicks it immediately. He stopped caring about looking over-eager months ago.

He smiles when Connor’s face appears, looking just as put together as he always does. He’s ditched his fancy jacket, sitting on a sofa in just a blue button-up. The top couple buttons are undone, and Hank absolutely refuses to let his eyes linger. Connor’s quick eyes would catch him in a hot second, and that’s not something he wants to talk about. Not yet, not with Connor over five hundred miles away, not when they haven’t talked face to face since January. Maybe not ever.

“Hello, Hank,” Connor says.

“Hey.”

Tilting his head, Connor’s big brown eyes scan his face. He can almost see the pop-ups in his irises.

“You trimmed your beard.”

His hand comes up to his chin, feeling the hair tickle his palm.

“Does it look okay?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

Enthusiastically, Connor nods. “It does! I really-”

With a loud _boof!_ , Sumo shoves his head between Hank’s chest and the table. He’s panting excitedly, tail wags making his whole body wiggle.

"Down,” Hank commands, laughing. He pushes gently, heart not really in it. Poor dog misses Connor just as much as Hank.

Said android is delightedly commenting on Sumo’s recently brushed coat, looking like he’s trying to scan his stats through the screen with sheer willpower. Hank seizes the opportunity to look Connor over properly.

He looks good. Relaxed and happy. His eyes are bright, and his smiles are real. Good news then. The tension drains from his shoulders. A small, soft smile graces his features as he watches. Eventually, he has to push Sumo down, not super keen on being used as a launchpad. Even though he understood the need to get closer. Preferably side-by-side, but that’s not going to happen, not for a long while.

“As you can probably tell, he misses you,” he tells Connor gruffly. He can’t quite meet his eyes.

“I can see that,” he says knowingly.

Hank shifts in his seat, embarrassed for some reason. He can feel heat on his cheeks.

“So, uh, you had news?”

Impossibly, Connor brightens more, sitting up in excitement. “Yes! The announcement will be made tomorrow, but I wanted to tell you as soon as I had confirmation.”

“Should you be telling me then? Couldn’t you get in trouble?”

Connor shrugs, a small smirk on his face. “Only if you tell on me, _Lieutenant_.”

Hank suppresses a shiver. His title should not be allowed to be said that way.

And he had to be doing it on purpose.

“You can trust me.”

Connor’s face melts into one of the softest, warmest smiles Hank’s ever seen. It does things to his heart.

“I know I can.”

They share a quiet, intimate moment. There’s so much that Hank wants to say, but it feels wrong to break the silence. So he contents himself with looking at those deep brown eyes, traces the lines of freckles down his face.

“Tomorrow, the president is going to announce that androids are to be paid minimum wage at the least, and can return to the workforce.”

“Well, congrats, Connor, you guys did it. Another victory,” Hank says proudly. It takes him a second to come to the conclusion that Connor wanted him to. “Wait, does that mean…?” he trails off, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t want to jump to any wild conclusions, but if Connor’s saying what he thinks he’s saying, then he’s fine with getting his hopes up.

“It does.” Even if he weren’t a detective, he wouldn’t have missed the excitement in Connor’s face, in his body language. “I’ve spoken with Captain Fowler, and he assured me that my desk is still open for me.”

“Damn well better be,” Hank grumbles.

“And I talked to Markus. He agreed that it’s just pushing legislation through now, which is not my specialty. So….”

Hank feels himself teetering on the proverbial edge of his seat. He hasn’t been this excited in a long time.

“I’ll be returning to Detroit and the force soon. I miss police work.”

He doesn't even try to hide his wide grin. Connor’s answering beam lets him know that was the right move.

“Good. We've missed you here.”

“Yes. Sumo especially, right?”

Hank rolls his eyes at his mischievous tone. He _knows_ , he has to. There's no way he can pack that much meaning into something innocent. Right…?

“Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

“Are you embarrassed, Hank?” Connor asks, not even bothering to act like he doesn't know he is. That brat.

“Y’know what, I take it back. You can find your own house and dog.”

Connor’s eyes pop, and Hank realizes his mistake. He hadn't asked yet. Fuck.

“I mean, not that you have to. You'll probably want your own place, when you can afford it, and-”

“Don't take it back!” Connor interrupts, leaning forward on his couch. “I'd- I'd really like to stay with you again, if that's okay.”

“It's more than okay.”

Hank’s face is super fucking red, he can tell. Connor’s probably logging all sorts of minute facial expressions, breaking him down and analyzing everything he isn't saying aloud. Far from being intrusive and annoying like it used to be, it's comforting. His android partner, who can understand him without words, even though they're miles away.

Taking a deep breath, Hank meets Connor’s eyes. “You'll always have a place here, Connor.”

He hopes that his meaning comes across, and by the look on Connor’s face, it does. It absolutely does, and he feels vulnerable, his battered old heart laid out, but he's not worried. Connor's taken good care of his heart so far.

“Thank you, Hank,” Connor says softly, reverently. His LED flashes yellow. Hank is concerned for a second, but then his eyes go distant for a second. Nothing he did, then.

Frowning that irritated frown of his, Connor shifts, glancing off-screen for a moment.

“Yes…. I'm being called down. I don't really… want to, but Simon is being insistent. It might be important.”

He is reluctant, and Hank understands. He doesn't want their time to be cut short any more than he does, but he's coming back soon. He holds onto that like a promise. They can more than make up for lost time when that promise is fulfilled.

“You go ahead. It's about bedtime for me anyway. I'll see you soon, huh?”

The thin line of his lips relaxes a fraction, and he nods.

Once their goodbyes are done, Hank shuts off his laptop and looks at Sumo resting at his feet.

“Just gotta be patient then, huh boy?”

Easier said than done.

 

For the rest of the week, Hank cleans. he'd been doing good on his own, but he wants it to be great for Connor. To look nice for him when he gets back. There were so many small things he'd overlooked. Dust on the fan blades, old food shoved to the back of the fridge, several of Sumo’s newest treasure stashes.

His house looks better than it has in years.

It feels almost like a dream. Connor hasn't given him a date for when he’s coming back, so he’s stuck in this state of constant anticipation and almost-worry. He is excited to see him again, of-fucking-course he is, but it's been so long. A small part of him is worried that things will be awkward when they're face-to-face for the first time in months. He knows it’s not true, but it's there.

At work, he straightens his desk (and the few items on Connor’s), and steadily works through the mountain of paperwork from his latest closed case.

Soon- whenever soon was- he'd have his partner back. His reckless, bitchy, know-it-all partner.

“What’re you smiling at?”

Leaning back in his chair, he accepts the coffee Reed’s holding out to him. The kid’s gotten a lot better since… everything. Had some real character development. Hank can't say he isn't proud, not that he'd ever say it to Reed's face. Maybe if he had a gun to his head.

“Got some good news, ‘s all. Where’s your partner?”

Reed’s eyes instantly go to Fowler’s office. The kid’s hyper aware of Nines’ location at any given moment, as much as he claims that he doesn't care. It says something, but it's not his place to say anything. But he _can_ shoot him a knowing look.

“What?” Reed barks, scowling. There's red creeping up his cheeks.

“Oh, nothing, nothing…. It's just that you're keeping an awful close eye on your partner there….”

“Fuck off,” he snaps automatically. His grip tightens on his paper cup. “That doesn't mean shit. Any good cop would, not- not just- It doesn't-”

Nines appears out of nowhere, apparently done with whatever Fowler needed. He steps forward after taking in the situation, stealthily standing behind Reed. He catches Hank’s eye and raises a finger to his lips. He recognizes that look in his eyes. Connor gets the same one whenever he thinks of something to say that'll send Hank into a laughing fit. Or piss him off. He's never quite certain which he's aiming for.

Hank's grin grows, sending Reed into more stuttering ranting.

“Struggling, Detective?”

The hand around his coffee cup squeezes, crumpling the paper and sending hot coffee flying everywhere. Hank shouts, jumping out of his chair. Some of it had splashed into his legs. He's not mad though. He laughs again when he sees Reed's face. Damn, he should have recorded that. Connor would have gotten a kick out of it.

"Look what you made me do, you dick!”

“I fail to see how your clumsiness is my fault.”

“You snuck up on me on purpose, you bastard!”

Nines smiles, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “Make up your mind, Detective, am I a dick or a bastard?”

As much as he loves watching the two of them bicker, Hank's eye catches movement at Fowler's door. The captain sees him and waves him up. He steps around the two, laughing to himself when Reed goes up on his tiptoes to get in his partner’s face.

Once he's taken a seat across the desk from the captain, Fowler tosses him a file.

“We’ve got another android-related case. Three known vics so far.”

Hank flips through the pages, skimming the reports and frowning over the pictures. Two humans and one android, all cut up and posed in the exact same way. All were killed where they were found, all in very public places. A park, a side street near a bakery, a mall bathroom. Their killer is ballsy, Hank’ll give them that.

“They were found fast, weren't they?” Hank asks, tapping the blue splatters around the android’s body. Their Thirium hadn't evaporated at all.

Fowler nods. “They were all killed early, right before people usually start showing up to those places. Whoever it is, they want their work to be found. There's evidence pointing to an android doing the killing. I want you to start working this, but don't do anything drastic until Connor gets back.”

There's a small thrill that runs down his spine at that. _When_ Connor gets back. They can just pick up where they left off, as partners and housemates, at least until he works up the courage to say what he wants to. He won't have distance to use as an excuse.

“When have I ever?” Hank asks, placing a mock-offended hand over his heart.

The captain’s glare is answer enough.

 

Hank’s sitting at the kitchen table, looking over the case file, when his phone lights up with a text from The Terminator.

_Are you busy, Lieutenant?_

Rolling his eyes, he drops the papers, focusing solely on responding to Connor’s overly formal message.

_No Lieutenants here, just us Hanks. And a Sumo._

_I’ll take that as a no then._

_You’ve got my full attention._

_Does that mean you would be up for an impromptu video call?_

Hank’s laptop is up and running, calling Connor’s tablet before he can think.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Connor laughs when he answers.

“As if I’d turn down two calls in a week. What’s up?”

“I had some free time. I wanted to talk to you.”

He’s glad Connor’s across the country right now, because he wouldn’t be able to explain his pulse jumping like it does. He feels way happier than he should but he likes knowing that he’s Connor’s go-to when he has time to himself.

Connor leans forward suddenly on his couch (a different one than last time, he notes), eyes scanning the papers spread out in front of the computer. To tease him, he slides them back into the folder. “Ah-ah, you know you’re not allowed to see those yet.”

Connor full-on _pouts_ , and damn if it isn’t the cutest shit he’s ever seen.

And then he tilts his head, hitting him with those puppy dog eyes.

“I can help. You know I can.”

He’s right, and they both know it. But he has to at least pretend to hold out for a little longer.

“You’d need a secure link. Can’t risk sensitive info getting out.”

Connor draws himself up, feathers ruffled. “I am one of CyberLife’s best products, _Lieutenant_ , I can assure you that I _am_ a secure connection.”

Hank laughs. He can’t help it. This is his life now, teasing a proud, ridiculous android until he snaps.

He wouldn’t want it any other way.

“I know, Con. I’m teasing. I’ll share, but you gotta tell me what’s goin’ on on your end, before you get sidetracked.”

With his assurance that he’ll get what he wants, Connor settles back. “What would you like to know?”

He takes a second to simply smile, enjoy the moment. He snaps, looking at his LED. “Oh! How’d it go with Simon? What was that about?”

“A surprise party for me, actually,” he answers, a corner of his mouth ticking up in a smile. “Markus let on that I would be coming home soon, so they wanted an official goodbye.”

“Android party, huh? Must have been wild.”

Connor chuckles. “Well, North didn’t kill anyone, so I’d say it was fairly tame.”

“Oh, so you’re joking now? You download a humor program finally?”

Innocently, Connor tilts his head. “Was that a joke? I’d say I was being factual.”

“I see the sarcasm subroutine is still functioning .”

They laugh at that, before settling into another comfortable silence. After a moment, he gestures to the sofa. “New hotel, I see.”

In an instant, Connor turns cagey. He can tell that he’s regulating his responses and facial expressions. He doubts that anyone else would recognize the change, but he knows Connor.

“Yes, it’s...different,” he says carefully. “It’s closer to my latest meeting.”

Raising one eyebrow, Hank looks his partner up and down skeptically. He’s hiding something. He’s not sure what, or why, but he’s withholding information. “What meeting?”

Connor turns his head slightly, trying to be stealthy about it. But he already saw the flash of yellow on his temple as his processes what he wants to let on. “Markus is having me do some last minute conferences with people of interest, to negotiate some things before I go.”

“Gotcha,” he says, nodding. Need-to-know android issues then. He understands. Even if he told him about all the ridiculous political bullshit they were having to wade through, it isn’t his place to know before his own people. “Hopefully, he won’t keep you too long. We’ve got a case to solve.”

Eyes honing in on the file hungrily, Connor tries to act unaffected. “It shouldn’t take long. In fact, it might be beneficial for us to get a headstart….”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop torturing you.” He pulls out the papers, careful to keep them facing away from the camera. Guy hadn’t had a taste of police work in months; it would be a waste if Connor spoiled it for himself by scanning it in a millisecond. Plus, this way he can watch Connor think, absorb each tiny piece of information, watch his eyes flick back and forth as he analyzes data and chases down theories in that beautiful mind of his.

“So all three victims were killed right before these places start getting busy, which the killer would know if he watched them. They were all killed at or in their workplaces.” He holds up the first picture, a smiling blond man wearing a blue apron. “Henry Clayton, thirty-eight. Manager at Brightside Café. He was found two weeks ago.” He shows him the crime scene photo, watching Connor’s LED flash yellow a couple of times, looking for clues.

Since Henry was the first, it’s a lot messier than the others. He’s laid out on his back on the sidewalk, arms crossed like they did to bodies in the old days. Around his head, parts that have been cut from his body are arranged in a grotesque halo. Hank has the order memorized by now: eye, tongue, heart, trachea, eye. The rest of him has been cut apart, but nothing else was taken out.

“Then, a week later, a couple out for a morning run found him.” He holds up the next picture, from the android’s work ID. “Avery no-last-name, a WB200 model. He was working an early shift in the park, doin’ some landscaping.”

Connor looks a little sad at that. Hank knows exactly what he’s feeling. The poor guy had just gotten the opportunity to go back to his job and actually get paid for it, and then this happened. Not long enough to enjoy being a person, not long enough to enjoy life. It’s tragic.

“The parts correspond,” he observes. Hank nods. The halo pattern is almost the exact same. Eye, tongue, Thirium pump, voice box, eye.

The last one, Maya Owens, deviates from the pattern. The first woman, and she’s barely out of her twenties. She was found in the mall bathroom a couple of days ago, only a couple hundred yards from her coworkers. This one was quick and efficient, and it pisses Hank off, especially since no cameras picked anything up.

“He’s getting better,” Connor says grimly. “There’s no more hesitation marks, and the cutsare cleaner, more precise.”

Hank nods. “So we know he probably watches them for a while, and waits a week between kills. He gets away clean, no fingerprints or hair or blood or even Thirium.”

Making a frustrated noise, Connor slumps back into the sofa cushions. “If I were there, I could have found something they missed.”

“I know. Soon though, okay? We’ll figure this out together.”

 _That_ gets him a smile. “We will. I’ll run some things through my systems, see what I come up with.”

“Don’t you have meetings to focus on?”

There’s that pout again. “I can focus on several things at once, Lieutenant. My processors are more than capable of multitasking.”

Hank holds his hands up, surrendering playfully. “Understood, Mr Advanced Prototype. Just didn’t want you to get in trouble with android Jesus.”

Connor straight up _rolls_ his eyes. Hank’s proud. Exasperated, but proud.

“I’ll be fine.” He glances at the corner of his screen and frowns. “Shouldn’t you be getting to bed? If you want to get the proper amount of sleep and get in to work on time-”

“Yeah, yeah.” He cuts him off with a wave and a small smile. “I’ll let you go. We can talk about the case more later.” Just briefing his partner on what he knew makes the whole thing seem… easier. Not as heavy a burden to carry. They’ll find whoever it is, because they work well together.

“Alright. I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Same here.”

“Goodnight, Hank.”

“‘Night, Connor.”

It’s dark outside when he shuts his computer. Connor’s right, he should be getting to be. Damn android’s good at keeping him on schedule even from a distance. He chuckles fondly, stands and stretches to pop his back. He’s right though, as usual. A warm bed sounds good right now. 

It would be better with a certain someone, but he’ll take what he can get. 

Maybe one day. Maybe soon. 


	2. And I Would Walk 500 Miles

When Hank wakes up, there’s several texts on his phone. He dismisses his alarm, groans at the time, and rolls back onto his pillow, phone in hand. Bastard probably timed his texts to coincide with his alarm, to keep him from falling back to sleep. 

_(7:00)_ _ I ran background checks on all their coworkers. None of them particularly stand out. _

_ (7:00) And if you’re wondering, yes it was a secure link. Captain Fowler reinstated my access to the DPD database.  _

His teasing makes waking up worth it. So his devious plan did work. He makes himself throw off his blanket and stand, typing up a response on the way to the coffee pot. 

_ Do you ever sleep? _

_ I don’t need to sleep.  _

_ You know what I meant. Stasis, or whatever.  _

_ I did.  _

He doubts that it was for long, but that’s enough to pacify him for now. After a quick breakfast, he feeds Sumo and lets him out, then goes about getting ready for work. 

 

He’s early to the station. He’s feeling pretty proud of himself, so he grabs a donut and another coffee from the break room. Reed’s there, leaning over his usual table, nursing his own cup of coffee. 

“You sure you should be eating that? I heard Connor’ll be back soon.”

Deliberately taking a huge bite, Hank flips him off. Reed returns the affectionate gesture. 

“Where’s your partner?” 

Straightening and stretching, he motions to the hall. “He’s logging some evidence from the hate crimes we’ve been working on. Some prick’s going around smashing androids with a bat. No fatalities though.”

He frowns. Logically, he knows that it’s going to take a long time for people to accept the new world as it is. He’d seen it a couple times in his life already. But it still sucks.

“Good luck with that.”

“We don’t need luck when we have skill,” a deep, unfamiliar voice says behind him. He turns slowly, eyebrow raised. That line was cheesy as hell. Nines is standing in the doorway, looking pleased with himself. It must have been a recording, because that definitely wasn’t his actual voice. His theory is confirmed when Reed strolls over to his partner, slinging an arm over his shoulders. 

“I knew you liked that movie, you asshole,” he laughs. 

Hank leaves them to their banter, weaving over to his desk. They have a week until the next victim, if their killer stays on schedule. He needs to be working, not feeling… whatever he’s feeling. 

He knows what he’s feeling, of course. He misses Connor. Misses the closeness. Seeing those two just reminds him of how alone he is. But his days of self-pity are over. It’s time to get down to business. 

Connor already cleared the coworkers, so that’s done. He still has follow-up interviews to do. Still needs to go back to the sites and figure out how they got in and out without being seen. Both of those would be a lot easier with his partner, but he’ll have to make do with good old-fashioned police work. 

He pulls up a map of Detroit, scaling it down to the downtown area where the murders took place. They weren’t very far apart. His comfort zone has been fairly small so far, so there’s a fair chance he’ll strike in the same area. 

The only discernible pattern so far is human-android-human. Which cuts their potential victim pool down, but only by so much.

The bastard left no physical evidence, and it’s pissing him off. Heaving a sigh, he leans back in his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. 

Connor must be a goddamn psychic, because as soon as he decides on a short break for lunch, his phone vibrates with a text. 

_ This meeting is so boring, Lieutenant. _

Chuckling, he asks why. He can’t wait to hear Connor’s bitching. It’s usually over something small, but he’s so particular about things. It’s funny to hear him complain.

_ I’m not even negotiating anything. He just wants recognition for “what a good person he is for supporting the movement”. I was not programmed to stroke egos. _

Hank can picture the frown that would come from such statement. No, he’d be keeping up appearances. Polite, neutral face while he suffers internally. 

_ And that’s why Markus sent you instead of going himself. _

There’s silence on Connor’s end for a couple minutes. Then:

_ Fuck _

Hank doesn’t even try to stop the laughter. It shakes his whole body. After he calms down, he wipes his eyes, ignoring the stares from around the bullpit. 

_ I want you to know that I’m laughing at you. So hard.  _

_ I’m canceling your cable. No more sports. _

_ Fuck you too, robocop _

Standing, Hank shrugs his coat on and shoots one last text.  _ I’m heading out to lunch, and then I’m going to start interviewing the witnesses. _

_ Tell me what you find? _

_ Of course _ , he responds, smiling. 

 

He grabs a quick lunch at a sandwich place, flipping through the apps on his phone for a while. He’s been eating better, even without Connor’s watchful, disapproving eye. It’s half because of Connor’s concern, and half from wanting to feel better, look better. To take care of himself. He’s never been a small guy, but he’s been getting more muscle back. 

He wonders if Connor’s noticed. 

  
  


It’s still early afternoon when he rolls up to the café, and it looks like he’s on the tail-end of the lunch hour rush. 

The Brightside is a small establishment, all warm tones and wood finish and a whole lot of big windows on the front and sides. A bell jingles over his head when he pushes the door open. It smells like coffee beans and sugar. Maybe he should grab something while he’s here. It’s probably overpriced and unhealthy as fuck, but it smells good. 

Most of the tables and armchairs are filled, people chatting away. He winds his way towards the counter. There’s a short line, so he waits. There are two employees, a human girl and an AV500 model with dark green hair. If their schedules are the same, they’re the two who were with Henry Clayton when he died. They bustle back and forth between stations with the controlled chaos of coffee shop baristas. When there’s a lull in the in the shouting of orders, he steps up, flashing his badge. 

“You two have a moment?” he asks.

They look at each other. Not in a suspicious way, just surprise. Neither of them give off guilty vibes. 

“Yes, sir.”

He pulls out his notepad. Still useful, no matter how  _ some _ people complain and tell him he should get a tablet. “Christa Wells and Mitch McConaughey?” At their nods, he continues, “I’m just doing some follow-up. You two were here when your manager was killed? Can you walk me through it?”

Christa winces, and nods. “Yeah. We came in at the same time as usual. Henry was already here, as usual, and we opened. Mitch was doing the baking, and I was fixing the espresso machine, so he offered to take the trash out. And then he took so long getting back, but we were so busy we didn’t notice.”

“So I went out to look,” Mitch finishes. 

There’s guilt in their eyes. Poor kids probably think they sent him to his death or something.

He points his pen to the back exit behind the counter. “He go that way?”

At their confirmation, he steps behind the counter and heads out the door. It lets out into a wide alley between the buildings. To his right, he can see the main street. There’s a fair amount of traffic at this time of day, but he doesn’t imagine there’s a lot in the early hours. 

Through the windows to his right, he can see curious onlookers staring at him. Ignoring them, he turns left, towards the dumpster at the end of the alley. His body was found only a couple feet away from it. Hank crouches there. According to the initial report, the victim had been blitzed from behind. The M.E. wasn’t sure which of the dozens of cuts was the final one. Their killer had rushed, after the first couple hesitation marks. They weren’t professional cuts of any kind, but it got the job done. 

Their theory was holding up so far. The killer had watched, memorized his schedule. Then he seized the opportunity when Clayton stepped outside of his routine and the café. 

He paces up and down the alley. There’s nothing that stands out, but he’s not surprised. Two weeks is a long time. Still, he’s been getting back into the habit of being thorough, so he even gets down on all fours to check under the dumpster. Nada. At least getting up isn’t as hard as it used to be. 

He walks up and down the stretch once more. Just before the mouth of the alley, he pauses, looking into the coffee shop.

There. On the ceiling, above the center table, a security camera. It’s a long shot, but maybe it picked something up. 

He re-enters through the front door, going straight to Mitch. He points at the camera. 

“Does that record?”

“Yes.”

“Great. I’m gonna need you to send the last couple of months of footage to this number here. And can I get a hot coffee to go? Thanks.”

Once his phone informs him that the file has been delivered, he forwards it to Connor. 

_ If you’ve got time, wanna look this over? _

_ You’re lucky I am so patient and forgiving.  _

_ Yeah, yeah, you’re the best. _

_ I know.  _

 

The park isn’t going to give him much, so he puts it off for another day. There’s no hope of security footage. The poor android has been found behind a nine-foot-tall hedge in the middle of the grounds. So he tracks down the number of the company he’d been working for, and sets out to find his coworkers. Like a lot of androids after the revolution, he’d been living in a communal apartment complex. Him and a couple of his crew shared a unit. It was a couple miles from the park , tucked into a busy, kinda rundown neighborhood. He parks, and gets out to cross the street. There are three buildings arranged around the most lackluster courtyard he’s ever seen. None of them are labeled. And he doesn’t see an office of any kind. 

There are probably only androids living here, he thinks as a YK500 spots him, ducking behind an overgrown bush. She peeks out again a second later, eyes wide. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully, holding his badge up. “I’m looking for apartment 207. Can you tell me where that is?”

She tugs at one of her pigtails. “Are you here because of Avery?”

He crouches down to get on her level, to appear as non-threatening as possible. “You knew him?”

She nods, coming out onto the sidewalk. “He watched me for Mommy when she goes to work. She works nighttimes. I liked him, he was funny.”

“I bet he was.” He smiles at her encouragingly.

“Are you going to catch the bad man? I don’t want him to come back.” 

“What do you mean?” He keeps his voice even, trying not to scare her. 

She points across the the road, near where his own car is parked. “He’d stand there-” Her hand swings up, to one of the end apartments- “and stare at us. Even when I closed the curtains. When I peeked he was still there. He’d just watch.”

Carefully, Hank keeps his expression neutral. They were right, then; there was a pattern of stalking beforehand. Their next victim is probably being watched right now. Half a week until the deadline, and they’re no closer to figuring out who this guy is. 

“Has he been back since Avery... didn’t come back?” She shakes her head. “Can you describe him?” Another shake.

“No. It was always so dark, and he was far away. He’d always run away when I told Avery he was there.”

“That’s okay, honey. You did good.”

She shows him to the apartment then. Two androids live there, a WG100 named Riley and a WK218 named Lou. Neither of them van tell him much. They’d all been on a five-man crew at the park. The two humans hasn’t seen anything, because they were in another quadrant. Lou had been replanting trees while Riley had been using the lawnmower. Between that, the construction across the street, and his headphones, he didn’t hear anything. 

Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, until the joggers came running for help. 

He drops into the driver’s seat, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. How was it that in such a busy place, with so many eyes, that no one  noticed a murder going on in the bushes?

“Goddammit,” he growls, slumping back in his seat. He needs a drink.

But he won’t, because he refuses to let all his hard work go to waste.

So he goes back to the station, types up his reports, wishes Connor were there to do it instantly, and hits the gym before going home. He’s beat, but he still forces himself to take Sumo on a walk, and takes a shower. 

It’s not late enough to justify going to bed yet. So he fixes himself a warm cup of coffee, even though  _ you aren’t supposed to drink caffeinated beverages four to six hours before bed, it will disrupt your sleep schedule _ . He needs the comfort of a warm mug in his hands. 

He feeds Sumo, grabs his coffee, and starts for the sofa. 

Someone tries the doorknob.

Hank freezes. Is someone trying to rob him? That’d be monumentally stupid, The lights are on and his car’s in the drive and everyone in the neighborhood knows he’s a homicide detective. But it’s okay, because he locked the door. 

Or so he thought. He nearly drops his cup when the door opens, hand instinctively going for his belt, where his gun would normally be. 

Connor steps across the threshold, leaning his suitcase against the wall before closing the door behind him. There’s a loud, excited bark, and then Sumo shoves past him to get his clearly long-overdue pets. Hank can only watch as Connor kneels down to rub their dog’s ears. 

He looks up and smiles softly. “I’m home, Hank.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: How the fuck? Did you learn how to pick locks?  
> Connor: Hank. You gave me a key months ago so I'd stop breaking windows.  
> Hank: Oh. Oh right.
> 
> Connor: I'm home.  
> Hank: I'm a disaster bi and I love you and our dog son.
> 
> Hello again! Kind of a shorter chapter, because the next one is probably going to be long. The action is going to kick up, so stay tuned. ;)


	3. Working Nine to Five

When Connor smiles, he can almost see the arrow go right into his heart. He’s been doing it a lot this evening. After he’d come in, and he got over his shock, he’d pulled Connor into the tightest hug and then gently bullied him into getting comfortable. 

So here they are, sprawled out on the sofa. Well, Hanks’ sprawled. Connor’s sitting sideways, leaning against the back of the sofa, smiling. His LED serenely cycles blue, casting soft light against the cushions. Sumo’s laid out on their legs. His tail keeps smacking Hank’s chest, but he can’t blame him. If he had a tail, it’d be going a mile a minute too. Connor’s finally back, looking like he’d never left. He makes quite the sight, and Hank doesn’t stop himself from looking. He’s wearing one of Hank’s old Knights hoodie (only because his clothes are in his suitcase, it’d be a hassle, he tells himself) and doing his best to give Sumo every pet he’d missed out on, because he’s clearly neglected over the past few months.  

Hank will never get tired of this. 

“You shoulda said you’d be home tonight. I woulda planned something,” he says quietly. He’s trying not to break the quiet that has settled around them comfortingly. 

Connor looks up and smiles fondly. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Hank smiles back, and there’s another arrow in his heart. 

He’s going to tell him. Take him out on a proper date and tell him. Because Connor deserves the nice stuff, all the fancy bells and whistles. And Hank wants to give them to him. 

They movie playing in the background ends. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to know what it was, too busy enjoying Connor’s company. After switching off the set, Hank stands and yawns, stretching to pop his back. “You comin’?” he asks expectantly. 

Connor ruffles Sumo’s fur once more before sliding out from under him. He dutifully follows Hank down the hall and into the bedroom. 

The first few times they’d done this had sent his dumbass old heart into conniptions. As it is, this is old news, a comfortable routine. They’d been sharing his bed whenever he’d come over, right up to when he left. It was easier to just have him sleep over than go through the process of calling a cab. He’d been expecting it to feel different after admitting his feelings to himself. Maybe it’s because he’s too tired. He crawls into his side of the bed, and gets comfortable. He watches Connor settle in on his side, smiling fondly at how very precise he is about pulling the blankets into place. 

They’re closer than before. Hank can count all the freckles on his face by moonlight, as if he didn’t already have the number memorized. Connor watches him right back. 

“You’ll have to tell me more about your trip tomorrow,” he says sleepily. 

“You already know most of it. We did video conference frequently,” Connor helpfully reminds him. Hank snorts, gently smacking him with a pillow. 

“I know that, smartass. It’s just different in person.”

Connor’s mission must be to assassinate him, because he smiles  _ that _ smile. Hanks groans, pushing the pillow against his partner’s face (gently, even though it isn’t necessary). “Go to sleep,” he grunts. 

“I don’t-”

“I  _ will _ sic Sumo on you.” 

“Sumo loves me,” Connor counters, pushing the pillow away to smiles smugly. Hank can feel his face heating. He really wants to pull Connor closer, tuck him against his side, press a kiss to the top of his head. It almost hurts, because it would be so easy to reach out. 

“He does,” he says hoarsely. He holds Connor’s gaze for as long as he can. He’s a stubborn man, but those intense eyes are a whole other ballgame. 

Hank hasn’t been a proper detective in years, but he’s fairly confident in his conclusion: Connor knows, and he’s not adverse to it. In fact, if the look he’s getting means what he thinks ( _ knows _ ) it does, he welcomes it. The last time someone looked at him like that-

He’s going to do this right. 

Resolved, he rolls onto his back. “Goodnight, Connor.”

“Good night, Hank.”

 

Connor’s gone when Hank’s alarm goes off. He’s afraid for a split second that last night had been a dream, but he can smell coffee, and Connor’s suitcase is open and half empty on the end of the bed. He sighs in relief, and gets out of bed with no complaints for the first time in months. 

When he exits the bathroom, he finds Connor in the kitchen. The smell of eggs has joined the coffee, and his mouth waters. It would be so easy to walk up behind him, wrap his arms around his waist, kiss that little mole on the side of his neck-

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Connor says cheerfully without turning around. “The toast is almost done, if you’d like to prepare it. I’m almost done here.”

Hank steps up to the toaster just as it pops and gets to work. He looks Connor over while he’s at it. He’s dressed for work, clothes neat and professional, as usual, with the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to his elbows, and Hank wants to die. In a good way, not-

He wants to stay alive, to wake up to this every morning. 

He shakes his head to dispel those thoughts. “You’re up early.”

He gets a side-eye in response. “I woke up exactly when I needed to, in order to walk Sumo and make breakfast. I don’t want to be late on my first day back to the force. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

Hank rolls his eyes. “I’m not that bad- anymore,” he amends hastily before Connor can say anything. He gets a proud smile in response. Connor takes the toast to put on a plate. He doesn’t know why, he coulda just eaten it standing, but Connor likes everything just so. It’s endearing, after it stops being annoying. He sits at the table with his mug, watching Connor pour himself some Thirium from a packet. He likes emulating this particular human behavior, the drinking. 

“Thanks for breakfast,” he says between bites. He’s definitely gotten better at cooking. When he first started, he’d followed the recipe to the letter. It had taken a while to convince him to loosen up, to add enough spices to actually taste and to take risks. It was a fun process. 

“You’re welcome.”

He slows mid-bite. Connor is watching him closely, not even taking his eyes off him when he takes a drink. 

“What’d you do to this?” he asks suspiciously. 

Connor blinks. “Nothing, Lieutenant.”

“Uh-huh. What is it then?” 

“Nothing, Lieutenant,” he repeats. “Please eat.” 

Hank stares at him until he starts to fidget. 

Oh, so that’s it. Hank can’t bring himself to be mean, so he starts eating again. He doesn’t know how long’s on that timer Connor’s got ticking away. If it were any other day, he’d tease by eating excruciatingly slow, but his partner’s excited and it’s cute. He can antagonize him another day. 

As soon as he’s finished, Connor takes his plate. Instantly snatches it off the table. Must have been close to the deadline. 

“Imma go get dressed,” he says. Connor hums, pleased. Not doing too bad on time then. 

Connor’s waiting patiently by the door when he steps out of the bedroom, and it’s one of those moments he wishes he could capture forever. Connor’s smiling happily, wearing his immaculate blazer and a tie Hank got him as a gift before he left. He walks up and tugs on it, watching the metallic threads glitter under the light. It’s simple, but the blue had reminded him of Connor’s LED when he’s especially happy, and he couldn’t not get it. Connor’s face when he opened the box had been worth it. 

“This looks familiar,” he says teasingly. Letting go, he grabs his jacket and opens the door for his partner. 

“Having memory problems, Lieutenant?”

“I will make you walk.”

 

They spend the morning going over the files together, in case there’s anything they missed. Connor shows him the interesting parts of the security footage. For a week and a half before the murder, the same person came in exactly five minutes after Henry Clayton started his shift. 

“It took me a while to realize,” Connor says as he fast-forwards through the footage to the right scene. That probably meant a couple seconds, in android speak. He pauses exactly when he needs by connecting with the computer, and Hank’s a little envious. They watch as a man walks up to the counter and orders. He’s wearing a black baseball cap, and the camera angle isn’t very good. Connor pulls up multiple windows with different timestamps. Half of the customers on the screen are wearing the cap, and they’re all the same height, but the faces are all different. 

“How do we know they’re all the same ‘droid?”

Connor seems pleased by the question, meaning he already has an answer. He plays the earliest clip a couple times, until Hank picks up the tick. The fingers of his left hand tap his thigh erratically as he waits, always in bursts of three. He lets out a small triumphant noise. Connor plays the videos all at once, a dozen copies of the same behavior reflected in each one. 

“Okay. So we know he took his time watching him until he snapped, and he’s not afraid to make direct contact with his victims. And we have an idea of how to ID him in the field, but it’s all circumstantial at the moment.”

“We’ll need a confession,” Connor agrees. He sits on the edge of Hank’s desk, pulling his coin out. “I want to visit the latest crime scene.”

Hank glances at the clock. It’s close enough to noon to justify an early lunch. “Tell you what, let’s grab some food, and then we’ll hit up the mall.”

Connor nods, still thinking. Hank loves watching the gears turn, so he stays quiet while he leads his partner to the car. 

He drives to his new usual sandwich place, humming along to the radio. When they arrive, Connor seems pleasantly surprised at the change in venues. He stays in the car while Hank grabs food. When he gets back, he peels off the wrapper and takes a bite. 

“I contacted the mall people to let them know that we’re on our way.”

No response. 

“Connor?” 

Nothing, just staring straight ahead, hands folded neatly and still on his lap.

“Con? Hello? Hey, Earth to space cadet.” He waves his hand in front of Connor’s face. The sudden movement startles him out of his weird trance. 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he says awkwardly. “I was… researching a theory.”

He tosses the wrapper into the backseat, leaning back in his seat. “Sweet. Lay it on me.”

Connor falters, staring at him a second too long. His LED cycles yellow once, twice. “It wasn’t… about the case. It was a personal matter.”

He scowls. “What was that before, about not fucking off during an investigation?”

“I can multitask,” he says defiantly. 

He grumbles to himself, but lets it go. After a couple minutes, he looks back at Connor.

“Hey, are you free tonight?” he asks, trying to be casual. “No super secret android business?”

Connor blinks at him, confused. His head does his little tilt. 

Explaining a joke takes all the fun out of it, but he does it anyway. “Y’know, when you were at your new hotel and meeting? You got all secretive? It’s a joke, Connor.”

His eyes brighten, mouth lifting with a mischievous smile. “That was not ‘super secret android business’, Lieutenant.”

“What’s that mean?” he asks suspiciously.

“I was in a hotel close to Detroit, which would have given away my surprise.” And that fucker throws a wink at him. Still as effective as the first time he’d done it, and he knows it. Probably has a file somewhere labeled  _ Methods to Fluster Hank _ , ranked by impact level. 

“Asshole,” he says affectionately. “So no?”

“No, I am not busy. Besides work, or course, but you know that.” Connor gives him a significant look. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not talking about skipping out for the rest of the day, just… dinner.” He shifts, not meeting Connor’s eyes. He has to be strong. He can feel the eyes on the side of his head, trying to dig through his skull to get the answers he wants. Almost unconsciously, he continues, “Like, a nice dinner place. To celebrate your coming back. I know you can’t eat much-”

“But I’d love to,” Connor interrupts smoothly. Hank turns, looking at him. He’s practically preening, but damn does it look good. He meets Connor’s warm brown eyes, and he’s not nervous anymore. This is Connor; everything’s going to be fine. He turns the car on, reversing out of the parking lot. 

“You know of any good places that serve Thirium?”

“I don’t need to ingest Thirium multiple times a day,” he reminds him.

“I know, but I’m not taking you out to a celebratory dinner just to eat by myself.”

Connor hums. Hank knows that by the time they get to the scene, he’ll have a long pro/con list prepared. He’ll listen to it when they get home, of course, but they’ll go to whichever one Connor has already decided on. It’s a fun dance. 

He pulls into the busy parking garage, prowling up and down the rows for a spot. It's packed, which isn't ideal, but he doubts that Connor wants to wait any longer. Only been back a day, and he's already diving head first into the deep end, full speed ahead. Not that he expected anything less. He chuckles as he swings his car into an empty spot.

“What's so funny?”

“You,” he answers, popping open the door. Connor follows him as he weaves through the cars.

“What did I do?” 

“You know what you did,” he says ominously, trying to keep a straight face. Connor's LED flashes yellow as he frowns, probably replaying the car ride. He uses that opportunity to ruffle his hair. Connor shoots him a dirty look, but Hank can see the smile in his eyes.

When they find the head of security, they have her clear out the bathroom and close it off so Connor can have his space to do his thing. Hank watches him stalk up and down the tiled floor, running reconstruction after reconstruction. He kneels down right where the body had been found.

“Her wounds indicate that she defended herself,” he says aloud. Sharing his thoughts for Hank's benefit. He appreciates it, even though he knows already. “But then she was incapacitated by a blow to the head, just like the others, although hers was not to the back of the head. She also had time to resist.”

Hank gestures to the row of sinks. “M.E. says the sink corner matches the wound on her forehead. Hit her hard enough to knock her out instantly.”

“But not enough to kill her,” Connor concludes. It would be easy for an android to kill a human, especially a small one like their victim. So it was important to their killer that they die the way he wants them to. 

He really fucking hates serial cases.

After Connor's as close to satisfied with his walk through as he's going to get, they visit the security office. Connor instantly dices right into analyzing the security footage. There's not much Hank can do but watch.

He likes the white of the chassis that's revealed when the synthetic skin pulls back to allow him to interface. It glows from the light of the screen, reflecting back some of the colors. A year ago, he would have found it unnerving, a reminder of how different he is. But that difference isn't a bad thing, not anymore. It's beautiful,in its own inhuman way. It'd be nice to hold that hand, bring it to his mouth to kiss the pearly white fingertips, show him just how beautiful he is….

“Lieutenant?”

Hank's eyes snap to Connor's almost guiltily. How long has he been staring at his hand, fantasizing like a goddamn teenager? Too long, since Connor noticed. He feels heat crawling up his cheeks. He clears his throat, looking at the screen. “What did you find?”

Connor gives him a small, secret smile, and fuck, Hank's gonna die before dinner.

He's saved from spontaneous human combustion when Connor taps the screen. Their suspect approaches the food court, fingers tapping rhythmically against his thigh. He approaches Maya's counter and places his order. Afterwards, he takes a place at a table and watches her for an hour.

Connor shows him a clip of the same behavior. And another. He's fast-forwarding to the next when Hank sees something. He grabs Connor's shoulder. “Back up,” he orders, leaning closer to the screen. “Okay… stop.” He squeezes his shoulder when it pauses right where he wants. Connor's shoulder is warm and solid under his hand, barely giving at all. He leaves his hand where it is, jutting his chin at the computer. “See him?”

Quick eyes scan the frozen image. He knows the second Connor sees him, because he frown. “Maya Owens never worked Tuesday's.” And yet their suspect was walking through the food court. He doesn't even spare a glance to the restaurant, just taps his fingers and walls straight ahead. 

“Can you zoom in?” He points to a small logo on the jacket’s breast pocket. It might be a random patch but it's something. Connor does something fancy with the computer, isolating the image and zooming, and then it's suddenly clear. It's a small yellow lightning bolt and a name. Blinking, Connor does that spacing out thing that means he's looking something up.

“It's an electric company,” he reports. “I've put in a request for the names of their android employees. They should respond by tomorrow at the latest.”

“Why don't you just hack them?” 

Connor shoots him a disapproving stare, but he has that look in his eyes. If he couldn't control his facial muscles, he'd be fighting back a smirk. “That's  _ illegal _ , Lieutenant,” he says, as if he's never done anything wrong in his life, ever. “And Captain Fowler has made it clear that I have to go the the same channels as everyone else.”

“Damn.” He sighs, straightening up. He takes his hand away from Connor's shoulder, already missing the warmth. “Show me the day of the murder? The report said the cameras got nothin’.” 

Connor looks back down at the screen, flexing his fingers on the desk. He'd be playing with his coin if he wasn't busy.

They watch as Maya Owens steps out from the side door of her restaurant, walking away from the sparsely populated food court. Their killer stands, tossing his trash, and follows after her. Connor switches to another camera feed, one at the end of the hallway that leads to the restrooms. The Owens girl disappears into the lady’s. They fast-forward to the discovery of the body.

“There's two entrances, he might have gone around,” Hank suggests, even though he knows it's probably fruitless. His partner pulls up the recording from the other entrance. No one enters from that side either, and Hank's let down even though he knew he would be wrong as soon as he said it.

“Hank.”

“Yeah, I know it was a long shot. I just wanted to be thorough-”

“Hank, look.”

He replays the clip. There's nothing. He plays it again, and he sees movement right on the edge of the screen. A brown jacket with a black baseball cap. It's fleeting, barely a couple frames, but definitely there.

“Holy fuck, good catch,” he praises, clapping his hand back against Connor's shoulder. “He's going into the men’s?”

Connor nods. He sends copies of the recordings to the station, and then he's out the door. He stalks through the mall, a man on a mission. His powerful stride is something to admire, and Hank doesn't mind being a couple steps behind, not at all.

The men's room is nearly a mirror image of the women’s. Connor paces up and down, eyes flitting over every surface. People give him a wide berth, looking at him suspiciously until Hank flashes his badge and sends them on their way.

“What are you thinking?” he asks when Connor slows to a stop. His head tilts up, and Hank sees what he does. The ceiling is one of those drop ceilings, with the squares that pop upwards. Connor jumps, knocking the tile up and away. He jumps again, grabbing the edges of the hole and hauls his body up. He looks down at Hank, blue LED bright in the dim space. 

“Meet you on the other side,” he says, disappearing as he puts the tile back in place. He walks to the other restroom, thankful that the closed sign is still up. He waits, leaning against the wall, listening for any sign of his partner. 

It's only because he's expecting it that he sees the ceiling tile disappear. Connor's quiet, dropping to the floor like a cat. A big, predatory cat, all pure strength and instinct. It's kinda hot, he's not gonna lie, but he tries to keep his mind on the task at hand. “Find anything?”

“There are signs that someone made the trip before me.” He turns, reaches, and works the tile back into place. “And we just proved that it would be easy for an android to do this without leaving a trace, even if they were a less advanced model.”

Hank nods. “Now we know how he got the drop on her.”

It's not until Connor frowns that he recognizes his pun. He grins proudly. Connor pointedly ignores him.

“But she's the only one with defensive wounds. The other two were knocked unconscious or disabled without a struggle.”

“Well,” Hank says slowly. He walks to a stall and taps his knuckle on the door. “Let's say she came in, finished up, and came outta the stall while he was going around and crawling through the ceiling. She'd go to the sink, yeah?” He walks up to the counter to demonstrate, turning his back to the rest of the room. He bends over the sink, then flicks his eyes up to meet Connor's in the glass. “My bet is she saw him in the mirror.” He turns again. Connor's nodding, looking pleased. “She tried to run, he caught her and they fought, and then he slammed her head against the sink.”

“Excellent reconstruction, Lieutenant.”

Hank rolls his eyes, but he can't help but preen under the sincere praise. He's finally getting to prove that CyberLife was right to send Connor to him. It's stupid, because there were already reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with him as a person. But he wants to show Connor that he was right to stay with him as his partner.

“I'd like to go back to the precinct now, Lieutenant.”

Hank scowls. “Why would you wanna do that? There's just paperwork there.”

“Exactly. I'd like to get it done there so I can give you my undivided attention tonight.”

Hank is floored by his wink as Connor walks away. 

“Fuck,” he says to the empty room. Is he even going to be able to survive  that intensity focused solely on him? “Fuuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hank: Wow, it sure would be easy to make my fantasies reality. ...Oh well, maybe one day soon.
> 
> Security guy: *Walks in to see them leaning close, staring into each other's eyes, Hank's thumb rubbing circles on Connor's shoulder absentmindedly. Whispers as he backs away* Gaaay....
> 
> They're always smiling at each other. Like goddamn, get a hobby, smh
> 
> Sorry for the late update! ^ ^; I've been working on my cosplay that I'm doing with a friend for Halloween, and haven't had my computer open much. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Shot Through the Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks you guys, for sticking with me. I split this last chapter in two, and the last one should be out soon. Let me know if there's anything you want tagged!

Hank’s nervous when they get home. Connor picked a semi-formal restaurant, which he had expected, but for some reason he’d forgotten that meant needing to look presentable. More than presentable, really, since he’ll be standing next to Connor. He’d been too hung up on what he wants to say. He showers quickly and trims his beard while Connor takes care of Sumo. Standing in front of his closet in nothing but his boxers, he frowns. Once upon a time, he’d owned nice, fancy clothes. No idea where they disappeared to. He eventually digs out a pair of black slacks from a drawer, and a passable button-up in the very back of the closet. It’s blue, and he knows for a fact that it looks good with his eyes.

Okay. He can do this. 

Fuck, he should have gotten Connor a gift or something. 

There’s a knock on the bedroom door in the middle of his crisis. “Hank, is it okay if I come in? I’d like to get changed.”

Deep breath. He checks his outfit, his ponytail, and deems himself acceptable. When he opens the door, Connor glitches out. It’s kind of funny, and more than kind of adorable. His eyes look him up and down a couple of times, blue light cycling faster and faster until it goes yellow. He stares blankly at him for a second, doing something in that supercomputer brain of his. He blinks rapidly. Then a slow smile spreads across his face. 

“You look nice, Hank. Very nice.” He steps forward, lifting his hands to Hank’s face, running his fingertips along his jaw, through his freshly trimmed beard. Hank’s breath catches in his throat. Those big Bambi eyes have him locked in place; he couldn’t look away to save his life, even if he wanted to. 

Connor pulls back slowly. “Our reservation is in half an hour,” he says, almost apologetically. Hank nods, stepping out to give him some privacy. Sumo lets out a lazy woof at him, padding over to sniff at him. 

“Stay down, Sumo,” he warns. There’s no way he’s getting covered in dog hair and slobber right now. “I love you, but stay down.”

Huffing at him, Sumo pads down the hall to seek out his favorite person. He hears Connor apologize, and Sumo cries a long, low whine. He slinks out of the  bedroom to curl up in his bed, shooting Hank a mournful, betrayed look. 

“I know,” he tells him, “we’re very mean to you, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely the worst,” Connor agrees. Hank turns to find him standing in the hall, fussing with the cuff of his shirt. It’s like someone punched him in the chest. Or maybe shot him. This android is too much for his poor heart. 

He is… stunning. He’s wearing a dark teal shirt and very nicely fitting slacks. Very nice. The top button is undone, and he’s forgone his tie. Should be goddamn illegal to look like that. Even that errant curl looks more artfully placed than usual. Hank swallows dryly. Connor preens for a moment before he joins him at the door. From the hook, Hank pulls on a black peacoat he hasn’t worn in forever, and Connor shrugs on a jacket. They share a smile before stepping out together.

He shouldn’t have worried so much. This is going to be a good date. 

  
  


Connor’s restaurant is downtown. It’s a nice place, but not so upscale as to be uncomfortable. The outside is dark brick, with big windows. The inside is bright and warm, the light spilling out into the dusk is welcoming. The door chimes when they open it, and the smell is fantastic. The hostess leads them to a booth towards the back. It’s private, which Hank appreciates. Once they’re seated, Connor orders some kind of fancy Thirium drink. Hank sticks with water. He wants alcohol, something to take the edge off his nerves, but he’s not sure he’ll be able to stop. 

They order when the waitress returns with the drinks. He’s impressed with the number of android-friendly meals they have, and Connor smiles when he says so, launching into the story of an android-central restaurant they’d found in the capital. Hank finds himself relaxing more and more as they share stories, tension draining from his shoulders. The food comes in while Hank’s telling Connor about Sumo’s great escape two weeks ago. 

He waves his fork vaguely in the air. “I know it’s not as exciting as all your stuff, but-”

“I like hearing about it. It was… rewarding, helping Markus and the others, but I missed being home. I wish I’d been here.”

Hank’s heart stutters. He tries to cover it up by joking, “Me too. You’d have caught him in two seconds flat.”

“Undoubtedly,” he agrees shamelessly. 

Hank laughs, feeling warm and content. “We missed you too. Sumo sat at the door for a month, just waiting for you.”

His face softens even more at that. He picks up his blue drink, saying that he’ll have to find a suitable apology gift. Halfway to his mouth, his hand freezes. His LED flashes yellow a couple times, and Hank’s about to make a joke about not texting during dinner, but the serious look on his face stops him. There’s a crease between his eyebrows, his frown severe. His light flickers red. 

“What?” he asks, dread curling low in his gut. 

“We have to go,” he says, standing abruptly. Hank scrambles after him, yanking his coat on. Connor strides out of the restaurant, nearly sprinting to the car. “Keys!” he calls, yanking the driver’s door open. Hank tosses them over the car, falling into the passenger seat. Connor slides in, and quickly reverses in a move that most stunt drivers would envy. Hank fears for his poor car. 

His grip tightens on the oh shit handle during a particularly sharp turn. “What’s going on, Connor?”

His partner’s hands tightens on the steering wheel, the leather creaking in protest. “Someone survived an attack by our killer. She notified the police and security, and they have the club on lock down. It’s close by. If we get there fast enough, we may be able to catch him.”

Hank’s mouth settles into a grim line. He’s grateful for the break in their case, of course, and that their victim survived, but he’s also selfishly disappointed. What a way to end a date. He didn’t even get to say any of the things he’d practiced, and now the mood was gone. He’ll just have to wait. Again. 

He looks at Connor’s yellow LED. It’s blinking frequently with what he assumes are updates. 

“Who was the vic?” he asks.

“Christina Lee, a ST200 model. She’s been working at a club downtown. That’s where we’re heading.” 

The sun has just barely set. This is way out of their killer’s established pattern. He says as much. Connor frowns, communicating with the officers already there. 

“Tonight was her last night, apparently. She’s moving tomorrow. She says that not a lot of people knew until the send off tonight.”

“If the killer was watching, he might have panicked. Afraid that he’d miss his chance.”

Connor nods, then veers across three lanes of traffic to cut down an alley. 

“Jesus _christ_ , Connor!” he yells as they bump over the potholes. 

“Sorry,” he says, not sounding very sorry at all. The alley opens up into a small parking lot. Connor parks, and is out of the car before Hank can blink. He hurries after him, crossing the street. On the corner is a small nightclub. The blue neon lights are on, but there’s no music, no bass thumping through the air. There’s also a half-dozen police cruisers out front, lights flashing. Connor stops to confer with an officer at the front door. He waits for Hank to catch up before leading the way into the club. The lights are all all on, and it’s strangely silent for a packed club. People are standing in tights clumps. Some look nervous and guilty whenever a cop goes by. Probably underage or high. Or both. Their witness is in the back, standing with Reed. His partner is nowhere to be found. 

Connor steps up to her, offering his hand. She looks too similar to the ‘droids Kamski hoarded. It’s weirding him out. While they interface, Hank joins Reed by the door, looking out across the crowds. “How fast did they get the exits covered?” 

Reed glances back at him, frowning slightly with a raised eyebrow when he notices how he’s dressed. “She messaged security as soon as she noticed him coming at her. She fought him off until security came as backup, and by then, he’d disappeared into the club. Nines says there’s a high probability that he’s still here. He’s collecting evidence over there.”

He gestures towards the back, where a hallway splits off into the bathrooms. Hank makes his way over, and finds Nines crouching in one of the doorways. Just in time to see him swipe his fingers along the boards and stick them in his mouth. 

“That is disgusting,” he says with a muttered curse.

Nines shrugs. “It is how I analyze samples, Lieutenant. I’d apologize, but I did not design myself.”

Hank rolls his eyes fondly. “What’d you find?”

“I’ve sent his model and serial number to Connor and the other officers. It should help, even if he has changed his appearance. He’s leaking Thirium. Not a lot, but enough to match samples.”

“Can you do that tracking thing?” he asks, waving his hand towards the crowd. Connor’s followed invisible trails before, so he imagines his younger brother should be even better at it. Nines rises gracefully from the floor, scanning the hallway. Hank leaves him and Connor to their thing. 

He weaves through the crowd, keeping an eye out for any suspicious looking individuals. There’s plenty, so they must not be good about checking IDs here. Just like a couple of clubs he used to go to, back in the day. 

The crowd’s thick along the stage. Hank heads that way. It has a clear view of the back hallway, and he’s willing to bet that if the killer’s here, he’s keeping an eye on the investigation. Some of the people shuffle away from him, and through that space, he sees a man with a hand covering his cheek. There’s a faint blue tint on his fingers. Hank steps forward cautiously. The android looks up and meets his eyes.

He books it, shoving club-goers out of his way. Hank feels a surge of triumph for a fleeting second- there’s no way he’s getting away this time- but then he sees the door. Black emergency escape besides the stage. 

_ Who the fuck had the back door- _

He does what his instincts tell him. He takes off after him with a roar, shouting to Connor’s attention. Ahead of him, the android slams into the door, setting off the alarms. Hank barrels after him. All he has to do is keep the killer in sight until Connor catches up. 

A couple months ago, he would have been screwed. As it is, keeping up with an android is hard. He skids around a corner, just in time to see a streak of black disappear down another alley. When Hank gets there, his target is halfway across the street, aiming for a brightly lit convenience store.

_ Shit- what the fuck- _

Cars skid to avoid him, and he has a brief flashback of the woman and girl, the fear he felt for them, but he doesn’t have time to think. He crashes through the door seconds after the killer. 

There’s chaos. The android shoves a rack of food over. Someone screams. Hank realizes too late that he’s not carrying his weapon and by then the android has a gun trained on him. His eyes dart to the back of the store, looking for an exit. There’s none that Hank can see. 

Slowly, Hank lifts his hands up. “Look, it’s over, son. Backup’s on the way. Just put the gun down, and we can work something out.”

His lips lift up in a sneer. He swings the gun to his right, at a woman cowering by the overturned shelves. “Anyone moves, and I shoot her.”

At that moment, the door opens. His heart squeezes a little at the sound, and he takes an unintentional step forward, towards the woman. Luckily, the new arrival had acted as a distraction. Hank uses it to place himself between the shopper and the gun. Not a super smart move, but it’s the best he can do. 

“Hi, Michael,” Connor says in his best negotiator voice. He has his hands up like Hank did, focusing the killer- Michael’s attention on him. His eyes meet Hank’s for a split second, his LED flashing yellow. “My name is Connor. I’ve come to get you out of this.”

Michael’s eyes narrow. “You can’t help me,” he hisses. “You don’t understand. You don’t understand  _ anything! _ ”

“Then help me. Help me understand.”

Connor tries to take a step forward. The gun comes up, level with Hank’s head. “Don’t take another step.”

Connor freezes. His light cycles red, but his face stays neutral. As always, Hank is impressed, even though he’s sweating. It’s different when someone else has the barrel of a gun pointed at you. 

“Okay. We can talk from here. Help me understand.”

There’s no way this is going to end well. There’s several potential hostages still in the store, and even if Connor can disable him, there’s a high probability that someone here is getting shot. Probably him. All he can do at this point is put his faith in his partner. It’s not hard at all. 

Michael glances between them. His aim doesn’t waver, but he relaxes. “All I wanted was to know what makes us so different. I remember waking up and seeing- seeing everyone being shot in the streets. But we look the same. Our parts are the same. I just wanted to show people.”

Connor nods in understanding. “Yes, I saw that in your work. If you come with us, you can tell everyone what you know. No one else will understand if you don’t tell them.” 

The gun lowers a fraction. Connor lunges forward, knocking his arm down. A bullet smashes into the tiles. Hank hears a scream and he’s moving before he thinks, covering the woman behind him. 

Another shot goes off. He’s afraid that Connor’s hurt, and then he hits the floor. 

_ Oh, _ he thinks, feeling the wetness on his stomach. The pain hits him a second later, heat stabbing deep into him. There’s another loud sound. Glass shattering, he thinks. Someone screams. 

He tries to sit up a little. Connor’s at his side in an instant, falling to his knee, LED pulsing an angry, panicked red. 

His voice is glitching, full of skips and static. “Ha- Haank- Don’t-D-OON’T- Please don’t- don’t- don’t-”

He’s caught, his voice modulator repeating the same syllable over and over again. 

Hank’s hurt, and probably in shock, but he gathers himself up enough to place his hand on Connor’s thigh. 

“Hey- hey, I’m okay. I’m okay. Take a- take a breath, Con.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, trying to lead by example. Androids don’t need to breathe, but it’ll give him something to focus on while he calms down. He’s been shot before, and it always hurts like hell, but focusing on Connor is definitely helping. Poor guy’s always been afraid of him offing himself, and this is too close. Probably forgot that there were other dangers and just had the rug ripped out from under him. Hank can’t blame him for panicking; he’s felt the same thing, after….

Connor’s body emits a low hum, his processors kicking into high gear. He’s very still for a moment, and he’s almost afraid he broke his android. Then Connor takes his first breath since the gun went off. It’s shaky and overlaid with more static, but it’s a good start. 

“There you go. Just… breathe, okay?”

“I- I- should be telling you that,” he chokes out.

Hank huffs out a laugh and immediately regrets it. Wincing, he presses his hand against the wound harder, his head falling back against the floor with a dull  _ thump _ . He cracks an eye open when the wave of pain passes. “You gotta breathe first if you wanna nag me.”

_ That _ manages to push the right buttons. Connor’s face draws up in that pissy little frown of his. When he speaks, the static isn’t nearly as bad. Mission accomplished. 

“I’d hardly call concern over your wellbeing  _ nagging _ , Lieutenant,” he snips primly. “And I’m not the one who requires breathing to live.”

“There we go,” he mumbles, relieved. Connor’s light is cycling amber now, which is better. “Is he gone?”

His partner’s face darkens. He does not want to be this guy when Connor catches him. He makes a mental note to tell Reed- no, Nines, Reed wouldn’t stand a chance- to keep Connor far away from the interview. And the jail cells. He should probably be put under house arrest to be honest, he doesn’t want to have to arrest his own partner for murder, but he’s so strong…. So very strong….

“-tenant? Hank, please stay with me.”

When had his eyes slipped shut? He opens them again, frowns, lifting his free hand to brush against the red LED.

“‘M okay, Connor. Jus’ hurts a little. It’s not that bad, I’ll be okay.”

That sets his light back to yellow as he scans to confirm. After a second, he presses a hand over Hank’s on his stomach. It’s firm, probably the exact pressure recommended on first aid sites. It hurts, but the pain helps him focus on keeping his eyes open. 

“The ambulance is on the way. They will be here in two minutes and twenty-eight seconds.”

“Tracking it, are you?” Hank jokes.

“Yes.”

Oh. He’s serious. Alright then.

The ambulance is on the way to get him, to take him to the hospital. He feels his heart drop. He licks his lip nervously. “You’ll… you’ll come with, right? Not a fan of hospitals, ‘specially by myself.”

Finally, finally, that light circles back to a calm and steady blue. Connor’s free hand seeks out Hank’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

“Of course, Hank. I’ll be right there with you.”


	5. Coming Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This!! chapter!! (and life) gave me so many issues. T^T But it's done! Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading!

Hospitals still suck balls. He hates the antiseptic smell, the lights, the way everything’s white white white. At least he’s not stuck in the waiting room this time. He doesn’t know if he could handle that. 

He remembers getting here, remembers getting rushed to surgery, leaving Connor’s worried face and flashing yellow light behind with the nurses in the hallway. 

Patting around the sheets, he locates the bed controls, pushing the bed into an upright position. They gave him hella good pain pills at least. He doesn’t feel a thing from his wound. He pushes the nurse call button once he feels situated properly. The door opens after a second, a nurse in green scrubs hurrying to his side. He takes note of the measured, precise steps and the impossibly perfect poker face. She stops at his bedside, lifting the tablet hanging at the end of his bed. The skin on her fingers pulls back as she interfaces with it. 

“Hank Anderson? Your surgery was successful. The was damage minor, considering. You’ll be able to go home after the doctor comes to check on you.”

“Thanks,” he says gruffly, voice still rough with sleep. What time is it? “Is it okay for me to have visitors?”

The nurse checks the tablet again, tilting her head in consideration. “Technically, visiting hours for non-relatives are over, but I have a feeling that won’t stop your visitor.”

Snorting, he waves his arm vaguely towards wherever the waiting room is. “Connor’s still out there?”

She nods, then does that space-eyed thing that means she got a message from someone. 

“Apparently he’s hacked the security system,” she says, frowning in disapproval. “He knows your call button went off.”

He laughs. Full-bodied laughs, until a twinge in his stomach tells him to fuck off. He can just imagine Connor parkouring around security guards and gurneys, forcing his way past nurses and patients until he bursts through his doors. He wouldn’t put it past him, to be honest. Once Connor has a goal, there’s nothing that can stand in his way. 

“He’s my partner,” he tells her as she goes to check his bandages. “And he’ll manage to get back here on his own, so it’d be easier to just let him.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking. “He didn’t mention that.” 

She finishes with him, rearranging the blankets to her liking, then goes to the tablet to interface with it again. “Your medical and personal files has been updated, and he’s on his way back. The doctor will be in shortly.”

She leaves, and Hank settles back into the pillows. He eyes the clock, keeping track of the time. At exactly two minutes and ten seconds, his door opens again. 

“Little slow there, Con,” he teases. Connor frowns at him, shutting the door and coming to stand right where the nurse had. 

“They made me agree to walk,” he complains. He’s looking Hank over critically, probably running a hundred different scans. Before sitting in the chair, he rearranges the blankets. Hank watches in amusement as the poor nurse’s work is redone. He drags the chair closer. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. Nurse said it was nothin’.”

Connor’s eyes flick to the tablet on the end of his bed. He can practically see his fingers itching to look into his files. 

“I promise, I’ll be fine. Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a Boy Scout, Hank.”

Hank laughs, holding his hand out for him to take. After a second, he realizes that Connor’s taking his pulse, fingers pressed firmly against his wrist. He rubs his thumb over his hand, watching the synthetic skin disappear under each sweep. The door slides open again. They both look up. 

The doctor doesn’t say anything at first, just picks up his medical chart. She glances between the two of them and smiles. To Connor, she says, “The surgery went well. He pulled through just fine, and as long as he takes care of it, he’ll heal soon enough.”

Connor’s nodding along, probably taking notes. “I can take care of myself,” he grumbles. Connor doesn’t even look at him, just pats his hand as the doctor goes over care. He’s been through this particular rodeo enough to know it by heart. Connor probably already downloaded an entire care manual, but he’s still listening intently. Hank has a feeling that he’s going to be under strict bedrest for a couple days, at least. 

She flicks through the tablet again before setting it down. “He’s free to be taken home as soon as he’s ready. We’re sorry for the miscommunication earlier.” She smiles ruefully, then makes her way to the door. “The stitches should be ready to be removed in a couple weeks, if all goes well. Goodnight, you two.”

As soon as the door clicks behind her, Hank turns to Connor. “I’m ready to go home, get me outta here.”

  
  


Connor drives them home. It’s all he can do to stay awake, head bumping against the window and headrest. He’s not sure what time it is, but it’s dark and they only pass a couple cars on the way. When they pull into the driveway, Sumo starts barking. He’s probably starving, and he needs to go out. Hank slides out of the car. Before he can take more than a couple steps, Connor’s at his side, frowning at him.

“I’m fine to walk, Con, I didn’t get shot in the leg.”

That gets him a deeper frown. He sighs, taking Connor’s arm to make him feel better. When he opens the door, he puts himself between Sumo and their human. “You have to be careful,” he says, “Hank is hurt.” 

They shuffle around in the doorway until Connor has Sumo’s leash and Hank is safely inside. He waves off Connor’s worried look and heads into the living room. Settling on the couch, he waits while Connor takes Sumo outside. When they return, Connor fills his bowls, but the dog ignores them, heading straight for Hank. He whines, butting his large head against his leg. 

“I’m okay, buddy. I probably look worse than I feel.”

“You did lose a lot of blood,” Connor reminds him. He passes him a glass of water before rounding the sofa to sit next to him. He leans against his side, carefully, head on his shoulder. “You scared me,” he says quietly.

Not sure how to answer, he grabs and squeezes Connor’s thigh. “I’m sorry.”

His hand comes up to ghost across his shirt, some ratty thing that had been in the backseat. He’d have to thank whoever dropped his car off. White fingers trace the edges of the bandage underneath. He lets the quiet settle over them. It must be a combination of exhaustion and the pain pills, but he doesn’t feel nervous at all. Taking a deep breath, he says, “Sorry our first date was such a disaster.”

“First date?” Connor’s looking at him incredulously. Hank squirms. Okay, so maybe there’s a little bit of nerves. 

“Yeah, that’s what it was supposed to be. Guess I should have made it clearer?” 

Connor frowns. “By my estimation, that was at least our fifty-third date. Possibly our eighty-seventh, depending on your definition of a ‘date’.”

“Fuck- what?”

Connor pulls away completely, sitting up ramrod straight. He’s frustrated, and Hank feels smaller and smaller with every word that comes out of his mouth. It has to be the meds, because there’s no way this is happening. This has to be some kind of bad dream. “Tell me where I lose you,” Connor instructs, holding up his hand. He counts off every point on his fingers. With each one, Hank feels the nervous sweat building around his temples. He fucked up big time, and he’s still not quite sure how he got to this point. “We’ve established that we have a close emotional bond, since nearly the beginning. You sought me out after everything. You gave me a key to your home, with express permission to come over whenever I pleased. You asked me to move in with you  _ officially _ . We had video chat  _ dates  _ every week while I was away. What- how is that not a relationship? Every source I’ve consulted has guaranteed-” He breaks off, looking extremely distressed. The final nail in the coffin is the light on his temple flashing red. Hank is confused, definitely lost, but he knows he fucked up somehow. Typical of him. 

Nothing he can think of to say sounds right. So he’s not entirely sure what falls out of his mouth, but he suspects it’s something along the line of: “But I never said- you never said anything. And we never- we never did anything. I haven’t even kissed you!”

Connor’s mouth presses into a thin line, LED spinning yellow. “Not all humans require intimacy in that form, so I assumed that you were satisfied with the physical, nonverbal intimacy we have.”

And he’s even more lost now. “What physical intimacy?”

Connor’s scowl is scorching. Whoever designed that needed a raise. “Hank. We touch all the time. Constantly. We were literally just-” He motions between them, and he realizes that they were in fact, just cuddling. Which they do nearly every time they sit on the sofa together. “And don’t tell me that you share your bed with just anyone.”

_ Fuck _ , Hank realizes, have they been dating this whole time? There is no way- that’s something out of one of those stories he read as a kid. He must have been silent for too long, but he has no idea what to say. 

“I…. Connor, I never said anything. How’d you-?”

His head does that little tilt. “I concluded that we were on the same page from the beginning and communicating nonverbally about these things. Following your lead and just jumping right into a relationship seemed the most efficient method. I did not realize…. I did not consider that you were so- so-”

It’s not often that he can render Connor speechless, but it comes with no pride this time. Instead, he feels guilty. “So damn stupid,” he finishes gruffly. 

Connor shakes his head. “Obtuse, maybe. Dense. But not stupid.”

They’re quiet for a moment, the only sound Sumo’s snores beneath them. “So… are you mad at me?”

Connor shakes his head and sighs, leaning back against Hank’s side. Hesitantly, he lifts his arm, wrapping it around his partner. They’re a mess. Chuckling, he shakes his head. “We’ve been dating, then?”

With a grumble, Connor says, “I’m reconsidering that.” There’s no bite, but even so, his heart drops. Of course his android hears- his head is right next to his chest. He looks up. “I’m teasing, Hank. Of course we have, even if it took your human brain forever to realize.”

“So… can I kiss you?”

A slow blink turns into a lazy smile. “That would be more than acceptable.”

He slides a hand up to cup his cheek, ducks down enough to press his mouth to Connor’s. His android’s a little stiff at first, but he’s always been a fast learner and follows Hank’s lead perfectly, pressing against his side. The angle isn’t perfect, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.  Hank pulls back when he needs to breathe, keeps his hand on Connor’s face. He leans into it, practically purring with satisfaction. 

He suddenly and desperately needs to keep that look on his face forever. 

  
  


He’s not sure what time they finally get to bed. What he does know is that he falls asleep with his arms full of warm android and has the best sleep of his life. In the morning, light seeps through the curtains, falling across his face. He can’t roll over to get away. Staying asleep sounds so, so good, but Connor knows as soon as he wakes up. They’re in the same position he fell asleep in, Connor’s arm wrapped carefully around him, head tucked under Hank’s chin. 

“Good morning, Hank.”

Hank groans in response, trying to roll away again. Connor doesn’t move, and therefore he stays exactly where he is. Damn android strength. 

“Coffee’s ready, Lieutenant. I preset the pot to be done when you woke up.”

_ Marry me _ .

“I love you,” Hank tells him serenely. 

“You’re only saying that so I’ll let you have breakfast in bed.”

“Is it working?”

Connor pretends to think about it, then shakes his head. “I can’t keep as close an eye on you from out there.”

“You worry too much.” Hank goes to sit up a little and promptly regrets it. Which sucks, but what’s worse is the look Connor gives him, the  _ I told you so, I’m always right because I am a super advanced computer encased in smugness _ . Maybe not exactly that, but that’s what it feels like. With a sigh, he accepts Connor’s help out of the bed and into the kitchen. Once his android’s satisfied that he’s not going to topple out of his chair, he hands him his pain pills with a cup of water. He swallows them gratefully, watching him pour a mug of coffee for him. “Thanks, Connor.”

“Of course, Hank.”

“No, I meant-” he licks his lips, nervous. There’s so much he wants to say, wants to convey, but words are hard. He’s always been a man of action, but he needs Connor to understand just how much he loves and appreciates him. “Thanks for everything. For putting up with me, for-”  _ loving me _ “for caring. And everything,” he finishes lamely. 

Connor sets his mug on the table. His hand comes up, cradling Hank’s chee. He leans into the warmth almost unconsciously. Gently, so gently, Connor’s thumb sweeps across his cheekbone. He looks deeply into Hank’s eyes, seemingly searching for something. Whatever it is, he evidently finds it, a sweet smile spreading across his face. “You’re welcome, Hank. And thank you for allowing me to stay with you. I mean that in every sense of the word.” He leans down suddenly, stealing a kiss. He turns, then pauses, looking over his shoulder. “And I love you too, Hank.”

His face heats up. That’s right, he said that this morning. It had just… felt right. He meant it, and it should feel too fast, too soon, but it’s not. He loves Connor, and has for a long time. Maybe since the beginning. He was just too slow to figure it out. 

Connor comes back with a plate of toast and fruit, setting it down in front of Hank. With his own cup, Connor takes his place across from him. “Nines messaged me,” he starts. “They caught up with Michael early this morning, and are planning on interrogating him today.” 

Well, that’s... good. He’s relieved, but there’s always something that feels wrong about other cops collaring their perp. Not that he’d be up for any chases right now. “Good. He giving them any trouble?”

“No, it doesn’t seem so.” He sips his Thirium, mulling it over. “They told him they wanted to understand him and his message, so he’s been quite forthcoming with his confession. Nines has offered to send his recording, if we’d like to watch.”

He chews for a second, contemplating. Probably, but it was so early…. “Maybe a little,’ he says eventually. Connor nods in understanding, standing up to grab his tablet. 

 

“Your work records show that you were working near the victims’ workplaces,” Reed starts. The camera lingers on him before turning on the suspect. It’s weird to know that this is Nines’ eyes they’re looking out of, like some kind of found footage movie. Even weirder is Reed’s professional, serious face and tone. Sometimes he forgets how good a cop the kid is. 

“How did you decide on your victims?”

The android takes a minute to mull over Nines’ question. He looks between the camera and Reed, off to the side. The small icon in the corner shows that Michael’s stress levels are almost nonexistent. When he speaks, his words come out slowly, with great gravity, as if he’s trying to get them to understand what he sees. 

“They looked... happy. All bright and open. Like there was nothing in the world that kept them from connecting with everyone. Android, human. It didn’t matter to them. They could see that we aren’t different. I had to see what was inside that made them shine.”

He starts to describe what he did to the bodies, and something in Hank snaps. 

“Yeah, that’s enough,” he says, tapping the screen. Connor disconnects from it, letting the tablet go dark and his skin return. “We can watch the rest later. I just wanna relax today.”

Humming, Connor stands, offering his hand. He carefully pulls Hank up, as if he’s afraid of breaking him. Usually he’d at least pretend to be offended by the implications, but he doesn’t have it in him to pretend right now. His eyes soften as he watches Connor steer the two of them to the couch. “We can watch a movie, if you’d like.” Hank grunts an affirmative, sinking down onto the cushion. He tugs Connor down with him, pulling him to his side. He rather likes this new seating arrangement. 

With a blink, Connor remotely switches on the television, flicking through their options until Hank tells him to stop. It’s an old alien movie, one that he’d gone to see at least five times when it first came out. It’s nice to be able to share it with Connor, to watch his reactions and laugh with him. It’s just like it was before, but… different. Better. 

“Hey, Connor?”

“Yes, Hank?”

The familiar urge to take it back, to put the walls up, to say “nothing” and leave it at that comes quickly. But Connor sees the meaning in his eyes, he always has, can understand him even without words. He smiles, and Hank loves him even more. But if there’s one thing he’s learned from the past few days, it’s that words are important. And Connor deserves to hear everything. 

“I love you,” he says. 

Connor smiles that goofy, beautiful smile, his LED pulsing bright blue. He hesitates for a second, then leans up to kiss him. Hank smiles into it, cupping Connor’s jaw. 

Even with a bullet wound, this is easily one of the best mornings of his life. He feels almost giddy knowing that it’s going to be like this every morning for the foreseeable future. Before, he hadn’t been sure that he’d have a next morning, let alone look forward to the future like this. But Connor… he made had made himself a place in his life, in his heart, made this house a home, and Hank will spend every day of the rest of his life making sure he knows he’s happy and loved. After everything Connor has given him, it’s the least he can do. And he’s happy to be able to do it. 

“Hank?”

“Hm?”

“You’ve been staring,” Connor informs him. 

“It’s ‘cause you’re so pretty,” he says easily. The meds make it so simple to just say whatever’s on his mind. And it’s worth it, because his android gets downright  _ flustered _ . He grins, pressing another kiss to his partner’s forehead. 

This is a good start to the beginning of forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone wants to come scream with or at me, I'm usually on Tumblr.  
> @kaitiedidanne or @hero-queen-of-brightwall


End file.
